


A Vibration In Your Fingertips

by MadnessofVoid



Series: tumblr works [6]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: BAMF Stiles, Blood, Canon Divergent, Canon-Typical Violence, Chris Argent - Freeform, Magic tattoo, Magic!Stiles, Mentions of the nogitsune, Other, Runes, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Stiles-centric, background sterek, braeden (teen wolf) - Freeform, could go on forever with mentions, just semi, lots of blood, lots of hospital visits, lots of mentions, lots of runes, mentions of Skin Walkers, mentions of corey & mason, mentions of layden, mentions of past jydia, mentions of past stalia, mentions of the dread doctors, nazi alpha thing, only briefly though, season 2-5b timeline, semi tumblr prompt, so many mentions, stiles bleeds a lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-26
Updated: 2016-11-26
Packaged: 2018-09-02 10:27:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8664190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadnessofVoid/pseuds/MadnessofVoid
Summary: “So…magic…it takes when you use?”“Yes. Which means it can be dangerous. So be cautious when using it.”orThe magical Stiles fic no one (okay, some people) asked for





	

**Author's Note:**

> Okay! So...this fic was a long time in the making. I wanted to do a magic/spark Stiles fic so badly but had no idea how to do it. Had no ideas. Had, well, nothing. Went nowhere.
> 
> Then, saw this gif set: http://stiles-and-the-sourwolf.tumblr.com/post/137362630739/halevneck-au-stiles-studies-magic
> 
> Had some more ideas, but it still went nowhere. Flopped time after time. It was utter trash. (Which I say about my work a lot, but it was really awful, guys)
> 
> Then THIS came along: http://acollectionofsterek.tumblr.com/post/140772945580/eeyore9990-imagine-with-me-imagine-that
> 
> Thought it was a good thought. Still, I went nowhere. Combined the both along with my own ideas and a new type of writing style I wanted to play with (pain in the ass style, by the way). Took forever, but finally got the final product. 
> 
> Lots of rewriting. So much rewriting. So much staring at the gif set, so much reading the not!fic, so much poking at my ideas. But tada! Here is the rambling piece nobody asked for!
> 
> Beta'd, as always, by the lovely AsagiStilinski. Also was originally on tumblr, but spruced it up here and there a smidgen. 
> 
> PS: I AM SO SORRY FOR ANY WRONG GRAMMAR/TRANSLATIONS WITH THE GERMAN AND POLISH USED! I HAD TO USE GOOGLE TRANSLATE BECAUSE I HAD NOTHING ELSE! ;_;

He may have kept it to himself since it happened, though he was certain Derek had some idea of the obsession since the sour-wolf was there when it all happened. But the whole ‘ _be that spark’_ thing was consuming Stiles’ every thought. He thought it was just some stupid phrase Deaton came up with to (poorly) ease Stiles into the whole _'we gotta trap Jackson in the club’_ situation. And when the whole _'believe’_ and _'be the spark’_ thing worked…  
  


Stiles may have stolen one of Deaton’s (also poorly) hidden tomes that were in the vet’s office.  
  


On nights when nothing was going on, or when werewolves weren’t sneaking into his room through the window (looking at you, Hale), Stiles was studying what the tome had to offer. Made copies of the pages and made his own type of tome with said copied pages. He would sneak into Deaton’s office, borrowing more of the tomes to copy for his own tome, and hurriedly return it before it was missed.  
  


Or maybe they _were_ missed from the start, but Deaton was curious in seeing where this would all go.  
  


Never knew with that guy. He was pretty shady.  
  


At least he wasn’t lecturing Stiles with how dangerous these tomes were. Stiles knew that already.  
  


He put a spell on himself for his lacrosse game to not suck as much. Just to see if that actually worked in the slightest. Because, seriously, someone as human as him couldn’t possibly be able to possess a magically talented bone in his body.  
  


He didn’t suck at his lacrosse game.  
  


He was, however, kidnapped after it and wailed on by Gerard in the Argents’ basement. He realized that the cuts and bruises that he sustained didn’t heal. They usually cleared up pretty quick in the past. This time it wasn’t until a few days later that they vanished.  
  


After the ordeal with Jackson being the kanima, Gerard convincing Scott to have Derek bite him (that was something Stiles would never forgive Scott for), seeing Derek looking so used, and seeing Lydia too happy over Jackson for Stiles’ liking…Stiles went to Deaton and confessed about the whole tomes thing.  
  


“Oh I knew.” Deaton hummed. “I figured you would stick your curious nose around after the mountain ash incident. And I felt the air crackle when you first tried magic. I am guessing you know it did something to you when you did it?”  
  


Sheepishly, Stiles nodded. “I won the lacrosse game.”  
  


“What happened after?”  
  


“Gerard kidnapped me and I looked pretty banged up for a few days.”  
  


“And that is what the magic took from you. Your ability to heal faster. See, the whole _'be the spark’_ was not said just because. Stiles…you _are_ a spark. It is a rare type of supernatural being that, like a druid, can easily blend in with humans and can even be close to a normal human themselves. They don’t give off the air of magic unless used. But there are some qualities that a spark can have that show their inhuman side. Yours so far is being able to heal faster from an injury without the use of magic. And breaking mountain ash without touching, which means telepathy. Before you ask how I know, Derek told me.”  
  


“So…magic…it takes when you use?”  
  


“Yes. Which means it can be dangerous. So be cautious when using it.”  
  


Stiles is. In fact, he is _so_ cautious that he sometimes forgets that he _isn’t_ human.  
  


It isn’t until after the nogitsune incident that Stiles fully remembers that he wasn’t human. It was one of the things the nogitsune played with while running amok in his body. It was part of the reason why he ran so cold after they separated…and why he felt like death.  
  


Sadly, he had no idea what magic the nogitsune actually used. Might have been a protection barrier for when he stabbed Stiles’ stomach to release those flies (which was likely magic as well), and immunity to electricity when the taser was shot at him. Hell, the whole separation thing was probably magic, too!  
  


Either way, it really tore up Stiles’ body. He was pretty sure he didn’t need that after everything else he went through during the nogitsune ordeal.  
  


Not only that…but Derek seemed to be catching on. As if he smelled it on him constantly, even though Deaton said sparks don’t give off magic scents.  
  


But if Derek was really catching on, he never said it plain as day. Just with certain words.  
  


Like “ _I’m not the only one with werewolf strength!”_  
  


Stiles expected Derek to one day corner him and demand answers. Demand how Stiles was able to exhibit that type of random bursts of strength (spoiler: it was because he etched runes on all his clothes to help him with that to get him out of a jam or when he just felt like it, which resulted in him feeling more anxious and tired by the end of the day). Or why he healed so quickly. Or why he never seemed to die when the situation would kill a normal human (also runes, which happened to amp up his paranoia).  
  


He waited for the day when Derek would confront him. When the cat was out of the bag. When Scott’s last connection to something normal would be revealed to be a lie.  
  


Derek never did.  
  


It was both a relief and let down for Stiles. Especially after Derek left to discover himself.  
  


After that, Stiles noticed all the free time he had on his hands. Between Malia going to summer school, Kira being too busy in New York, Scott being mostly distracted by training Liam (which he sometimes dragged Stiles along to help out), and Lydia helping Parrish with his new supernaturalness – Stiles had _a lot_ of free time. Which meant it was time to dive back into those tomes. To no longer be afraid of what he was and figure out how to perform any form of magic under the radar.  
  


Hey! He may be fighting to not be afraid of what he was, but he wasn’t going to announce, _“Hey guys! Guess what?! I’m not actually human! I’m a spark! It’s some type of magic person! Who knew?!”_ any time soon.  
  


Sue him!  
  


And like Uncle Ben said, _“_ _With great power comes great responsibility.”_  
  


Literally.  
  


Because Stiles was starting to run out of excuses as to why he needed to buy so many lightbulbs.  
  


(He may have blown out all the lights in his house when he tried a simple levitation spell.)  
  


(Four times.)  
  


(Which resulted in Stiles catching strep throat.)  
  


(Four times.)  
  


One time, after Stiles figured out on how to place wards around his home so that anyone that could harm his father when he was home alone wouldn't be able to (thank you Kate for reminding him that nobody is safe in their own home), Malia came over for some help with the summer school homework. She scrunched up her nose as if something putrid was lingering in the air.  
  


“ _Why does your room smell like ozone? And why do you look like you’ve been drinking?”_  
  


Thank god Stiles had thought of bringing a bottle of his dad’s Jack Daniel’s into his room earlier to hide it, since his old man was longingly staring at that bottle. So the story of him drinking while playing around with something that represented the ozone layers of the sky sounded believable enough.  
  


“ _Uh-huh. Well are you sober enough to help me out with math?”_  
  


After that incident, Stiles decided to try to do all things related to magic near the nemeton.  
  


On one hand, the hum of the magic coursing through is body was intense. Felt amazing! Like he was on cloud nine and could do anything he set his mind to! On the other hand, after he had performed what he was intending to do, his fingertips sizzled out blue sparks and he passed out right next to the massive stump.  
  


When he woke up, the world was dizzy. The air from his lungs was short, night had fallen, and he was lying in the empty loft. His fingers were bleeding and he felt the warm liquid drying on his face.  
  


Turns out...he had bled from his ears and wandered over to the loft while in a dangerous magic haze.  
  


Somewhere he felt was safe.  
  


But why the loft? The loft was the _least_ safe spot in all of Beacon Hills besides the high school!  
  


When he went to the bathroom, praising god that the water was still turned on, to wash up…something else happened. He felt nauseous. Vomited (barely) into the toilet. It was red – blood. Then, it turned white. Then purple-blue. And finally turned clear. Needless to say Stiles was internally freaking out, despite knowing it was all because of the intense amount of magic he used.  
  


It wasn’t until after he got home that he realized the swirl of a fresh tattoo on his side.  
  


A glowing one.  
  


Glowed blue and crimson.  
  


It was a _triskele_.  
  


“What the hell…?” He touched the tattoo in horror, groaning when it stung and sizzled under his fingertips. “That’s it! Break from magic, Stiles! Break from magic!”  
  


He had no such luck. Because the nemeton called out to him. Screamed to him. To which he obliged and found himself waking up sprawled out on the stump after a week of fighting it.  
  


“Goddammit…fine! One more magic trick! But that’s it! I can’t keep doing this because I will _die_! And I’m no longer a virgin anymore, thank you very much, dumb tree.”  
  


Stiles got into a meditating position, remembering how somewhere in his tomes that when trying to channel deep into your magic roots that it would help ease it out better without too much of a repercussion.  
  


It took him a while to figure out what he wanted to do. Definitely not the whole warding the territory of the Hale-McCall pack (yes, that was what Stiles called them and Scott will never know) because that’s what got him into the mess he was in last time. So something else was needed. But what?  
  


“Wonder how Derek is doing…” he suddenly pondered.  
  


And that’s when it clicked. A protection spell. Yeah…he could do that! Because poor Derek was a magnet for bad luck. And after he was done with that, he could do one for everybody! Great little gift from the Stiles!  
  


He eased out a slow breath, eyes fluttering as he channeled his magic. He felt the sparks flickering off his fingers – their hum and vibration causing him to moan softly. The nemeton seemed to moan with him, pricking his skin with each spark. Stiles opened his eyes, feeling them burn their turquoise color when he used, and began chanting lowly, barely audible, the protection spell he wanted to place on Derek.  
  


It would be a pretty potent one. Would make it so Derek couldn’t be so easily killed. That he would be able to sense when someone was up to no good. Sense if anyone wanted to cause him harm. Just a little extra push so he could easily avoid it all.  
  


Stiles let out a hiss of discomfort. A sharp sting formed onto his side. The one with the triskele. The triskele that made it so he couldn’t have sex at all. (Not that he was complaining because Malia needed to concentrate on her studies so she could move onto the next grade.) He wanted to take a look, see what it was that was happening to it. But, having learned from the first time that he became distracted during a ward, spell, or rune making…he didn’t look.  
  


No need to suffer what was the equivalent to a heart attack _ever_ again.  
  


So, for the time being, he ignored the pain. He continued the chant, his legs bouncing and nose leaking blood. Maybe he should have thought more about this. This was a pretty advanced spell. One that could kill him if he wasn’t careful of his limits.  
  


Blood started dripping from his lips and ears, causing internal panic. But he kept at it, wanting to prove that he could. That he just wasn’t good at making wards for his house, invisible runes on his baseball bat, and doing silly little magic tricks. That his abilities, no matter how dangerous to himself, could prove to be something that could be useful.  
  


A violent vibration shook his entire being, making him throw his head back and scream.  
  


Scream like a _banshee_.  
  


The next thing he knew, he was lying in a hospital bed with an IV hooked up to him and those tubes that helped someone breath in his nose. His father was sitting at the end of the bed in a chair, looking a little worse for wear. He noticed that Stiles was awake and immediately went into cop/father mode.  
  


“Stiles?! You okay?! What happened?! Do you remember anything!?”  
  


Thank god his dad didn’t have super hearing…because he would see right through Stiles’ lie in a heartbeat. Literally.  
  


“No…” Stiles rasped, feeling like he had been kicked repeatedly.  
  


The sheriff deflated, looking like he just lost his prime suspect. “You sure you don’t remember anything?”  
  


Stiles shook his head, his vision faltering for a second. “Why am I here? What happened?”  
  


“We don’t know. Scott and the others are searching around the area where we found you.” The sheriff leaned back in the chair, running a hand through his hair. “You…Malia came over for help with her summer school work and you weren’t there. You didn’t answer your phone. For anyone. So we went looking for you. Liam was the one that found you. You were right on the spot where the Hale house used to be…covered in blood, bruises, and a burn on your left side.”  
  


That caught Stiles’ attention more than anything else. “A burn on my left side? What kind?”  
  


“Like someone was holding a lighter to you. It’ll heal.”  
  


“How big is it?”  
  


“God, Stiles, I don’t know! Your whole side!? Why is that the only thing you are concerned about!?”  
  


The tattoo…the tattoo was gone. Why? Why did it go after doing a spell to keep Derek safe?  
  


Stiles shifted, groaning as he felt his bones creak and the vibration of his magic taunt him. He decided that staying still, no matter how hard it was going to be, was better than feeling that again.  
  


“I just…find it weird that only one part of me is burned…”  
  


“Regardless…someone hurt you. And when I find those sons of bitches -”  
  


“No. No murdering. Bad daddy. Bad.”  
  


That got a laugh out of the worried sheriff. “I’m glad you’re okay Stiles.”  
  


Stiles laid there, staring up at the ceiling. That was it. No huge magic like that ever again. Unless the situation was dire.  
  


“Me too, dad. Me too…”  
  


**~+~**  
  


Five nights before the Senior Scribe…Stiles had a nightmare.  
  


One so livid that it reminded him of the nogitsune events.  
  


It scared the living hell out of him. He didn’t have to wake himself up by screaming this time around, but it still terrified him. He figured it was just a side effect to magic using. That is until he remembered that he hadn’t used magic, at least nothing huge, since the protection spell on Derek.  
  


So not a repercussion…  
  


What was it, then?  
  


It happened again and again up until Senior Scribe. Left him hyped up and paranoid. Made him wonder if something was coming. Something big. Something horrible. Maybe it was something his sparkness was trying to warn him about. An…intuition thing. He had always had that. But not like this.  
  


He kept himself on his toes. Watched over his shoulder. Kept in mind several spells he may need.  
  


It wasn’t until the pack got to the school that his intuition proved him right.  
  


An odd type of werewolf with glowing blue claws attacked the pack. Scott more specifically. And…he could feel it. Could feel the werewolf trying to sap out Scott’s Alpha powers.  
  


So Stiles did something about it.  
  


He rambled out a spell in his head, clenching his fists tightly closed so the sparks would burn his palms instead of shoot out and reveal his secret. The spell was a negation one. Repel whatever it was the werewolf was trying to do to Scott.  
  


And it worked perfectly.  
  


Of course it did!  
  


Stiles, no matter how little he used his spark magic, was strong and didn’t have a filter like a witch’s magic did. Any spell he did would be stronger – harder to break.  
  


Which meant rougher the repercussions.  
  


His body was jittery as he felt a wave of nausea hit him. He shook it off, more worried about what was going on around him.  
  


Which he had plenty to worry about.  
  


Because someone new showed up. A different werewolf. A beta.  
  


_Theo_.  
  


Instantly, magic zipped and hissed underneath Stiles’ skin. As if it was screaming at him to eliminate the danger. Nagged at him to not trust this person. That something was wrong.  
  


The longer Theo talked…the more his magic seemed to become agitated.  
  


“I don’t trust him…” Stiles mentioned to Scott when all was said and done – when they were heading towards the inside of the school.  
  


Scott brushed it off. More worried about the werewolf that had tried to kill him. Which, okay. Scott had every right to be worried about that weirdo. But, deep down, it infuriated Stiles that he was being ignored. Infuriated his magic, which kept screeching in his ears, _**Theo is bad. Don’t trust him. He isn’t right. Something is wrong. Something is wrong!**_  
  


And it only got _worse_.  
  


The longer Theo stuck around – the more difficult it became to keep his magic under wraps.  
  


Some nights, when he actually could get away from the pack, Stiles had to unleash his magic in a massive burst. One of the times, it melted an old action figure of his into a puddle of plastic. Another time, it blew out the windows of a house across the street. Each time…the punishment was welts and burns decorating his arms and legs.  
  


Definitely had to wear long sleeves for a while.  
  


The issue with Theo agitating his magic wasn’t all that irked him. Chimeras, Malia saying that there were people in masks…things were _hell_. Things were getting worse. He was getting more and more aggressive with each new event. Each new opportunity to use his spark lost in his facade of being human.  
  


Then…the attack happened.  
  


Stiles had been fixing his Jeep one late night at the school (“ _I really need to just…wave a spell over you, don’t I, baby?”_ ) after having fallen asleep in the library. He wasn’t paying attention. He ignored the zips and zaps of his magic calling to him. He wanted nothing to do with it right now. Not after burning a hole into the floor of his room during one of his magic bursts a few nights ago.  
  


The pain was searing.  
  


Worsened by the fact that he hadn’t recovered fully from his last magical burst. (It had been a big one.)  
  


He screamed loudly, vocalizing his pain. When he saw who it was…he was terrified. Terrified enough that he felt the need to use magic to boost up his strength more than what the runes on his clothes would do.  
  


He headbutted Donovan, followed by smacking him with his wrench. He ran. He ran and ran and ran until he was hidden behind a row of books in the library. He threw out a spell that would quiet his heavy breaths so that he couldn’t be heard.  
  


Sadly, Donovan still found him anyways after monologuing and testing Stiles’ willpower.  
  


Stiles didn’t use magic to kill Donovan.  
  


It just…happened…  
  


And, despite having used so much of his spark that night…he unleashed a ball of it unconsciously that dented in his crime board ever so slightly. (It was only that way because he was at that board at the time.)  
  


He slept well that night, feeling drained and ill.  
  


The marking and sting from Donovan’s teeth didn’t go away the next day.  
  


A reminder of what he had done.  
  


It wasn’t long before he had to use magic again. This time to keep Lydia and himself on a low profile in Eichen House. He couldn’t bear the thought of the new enemy getting to Lydia. Or…any of them. But Lydia was who he was in range of. He let out tiny blue sparks, glad Lydia was too busy being terrified to see them, and released a vibration beneath them.  
  


That’s when he felt a wave of vibrations from the other room. From the room where these Dread Doctors were wandering around. Were they…were they magic? Or something like it?  
  


He kept it to himself.  
  


Didn’t even bring it up when they started reading the book titled after their stupid name.  
  


When he had the hallucination later, the one about his mother…he had to wonder if it was the book, or if that was the consequence from protecting Lydia and himself. Either way, when it was done, he found himself being attacked by one of those damned chimeras.  
  


Theo saved him. Then blackmailed him.  
  


Stiles didn’t give two shits if Theo noticed anything unusual. He boosted his strength through the runes, slamming the prick into the fence. Followed by allowing the sparks from his fingers to dance behind Theo, and caused a rise in sparks from the electrical system the fence guarded.  
  


_**Kill him! Kill him! He’s a threat! Kill him! Kill Theo!** _  
  


He ignored the screams. Always ignored their call since that time at the nemeton. But he wasn’t going to let Theo get away with anything. He would still keep and eye on him. Gauge how much of a threat he really was.  
  


And, by the end of it all, maybe he could figure out how to tell everyone what he really was…  
  


**~+~**  
  


Void Stiles.  
  


Was that what Theo thought Stiles’ spark, his _magic_ , was?  
  


Dark? Evil?  
  


Something he wanted in his pack of…darkness? Like it was some prize?  
  


It _enraged_ Stiles. He wanted to _slaughter_ Theo. Wanted to rip him apart for all the lies he had fed everyone. All the hurt he caused. The bullshit he put everyone through!  
  


Instead, he just left the guy with a bloody mouth and rushed to find his father.  
  


When he did…panic set in. So did anger. He had to let loose a burst of magic before the ambulance arrived. His punishment? Heightened paranoia, insomnia, and aggression. But the aggression seemed to be in tow lately with his secret usage of his spark.  
  


But it was _worse_ this time.  
  


A mixture of his personal fury and the spark’s goddamn punishment for using it.  
  


Take, take, take, fucking take! That’s all it did! That’s all _everyone_ ever did!  
  


The minute he saw Scott…  
  


_**It’s his fault! He didn’t listen! He didn’t trust us! It’s his fault! It’s his fault!** _  
  


That was the first time since the nemeton called to him that he listened to the screeches of his magic.  
  


He threw Scott up against the wall before throwing him down on the floor. It was a blur. All of it. All he knew was that he was yelling at Scott. Didn’t know what he said, just knew he yelled. Then, he was taken off by doctors. Melissa. People trying to help save his dad.  
  


“ _He’s not the only one who’s hurt…”_  
  


Rage bubbled up further to the surface. Stiles wanted to spat at Scott’s feet. Tell him to fuck off and never speak to him again. But that’s not what he reallywanted. He _loved_ Scott, despite his faults. Scott was his _brother_. He _needed_ Scott.  
  


“ _You’ll heal.”_ he found himself spatting, still feeling vindictive no matter how much he loved Scottie.  
  


“ _I’m not talking about me…”_  
  


He wasn’t. Scott wasn’t talking about himself.  
  


When Stiles saw Lydia lying in that hospital bed…locked within her own mind…  
  


He knew he could save her. He knew exactly what to do and how to do it. He would find a way to get to her, even if her mother didn’t want him to. But he knew what it would do. To release her…the consequence of that…  
  


Stiles couldn’t help save his dad if he was a vegetable…  
  


Not like he wasn’t much help anyways. He was a loose canon. Kept rushing forward. Used his aggression to solve his problems. He was not calm in the slightest. He was dangerous, he knew that. But he was also weak. Weak from the stress, the aggression, the lack of sleep, the guilt, the repercussions.  
  


_E_ _verything_ made him weak.  
  


What was worse…he was taking it out on everyone. On Scott, on that kid that attacked his dad.  
  


He even took it out on Malia, only in a calmer manner and ended their relationship as a couple. Which, if he was honest with himself, was a long time coming. Even though it seemed to pick up…he had been lying to her. So had she. He knew she was going after her mother. Just…felt it. Felt the hum beneath his flesh and bones. But that lie wasn’t as bad as his, so he couldn’t judge.  
  


He still ended it, though.  
  


God…he was a mess. He was a mess and he would be better off just lopping off one of his stresses and tell everyone what he was. Let the cat out.  
  


He never does.  
  


In fact…he doesn’t use magic for the duration of…all this shit.  
  


That is, until he met the Desert Wolf. Who had a gun right at his face.  
  


Luckily, Braeden and Malia were there to save his ass. And he honestly thought he could tackle her and help out. But, for someone who lost a lot of her powers when she got pregnant with Malia, the Desert Wolf sure packed a punch. Stiles was pretty certain if the wind wasn’t knocked out of him, blue sparks would have shot out from his fingertips and he may have taken her eyes out. Not like that would be a bad thing, but he was trying to go back to pretending he was a harmless human. The cat still needed to stay in the bag.  
  


_**Hurt! We’re hurt! Stop it! Stop the pain!** _  
  


Panic shot through Stiles. He never heard his magic tell him when he was hurting. Not even with Donovan. So he looked, trying to pinpoint what was freaking his magic out.  
  


Oh. He _was_ hurt.  
  


There was a piece of shard in him. Dangerously close to arteries and shit. He was pretty sure he was in some form of shock as he stared. Didn’t last long since the ladies were loud and grounded him to the situation.  
  


“ _Fuck…I didn’t…I was…fuck…”_  
  


He fixed everything that was damaged, save the surface. Couldn’t look like a werewolf now. At least no one paid attention to the ozone smell that stung his nose. Nor did they hear him curse about the stupid spark.  
  


If they did – they didn’t care.  
  


He knew Malia wouldn’t say a word if she heard or smelled. Her loyalties were primarily with him.  
  


Great…more guilt. He didn’t need anymore of that. Sure, he was able to shake off some of it when he talked to his dad about Donovan, then when he talked to Scott about Donovan, and finally when he saved Lydia. He was starting to feel like his old self again.  
  


But…guilt…it snuck up on you…consumed you…  
  


Is this what Derek had to live with for all these years? What Malia had to live with?  
  


Well…at least it was just one thing they felt guilt over…  
  


“ _Can someone please get this giant piece of glass out of my chest?”_  
  


He saw Braeden and Malia roll their eyes, as if there wasn’t just a huge fight with Malia’s mom and Stiles didn’t toss over the jar with the talons to Malia. Then again, Stiles just acted like there wasn’t a huge fight with Malia and her mom.  
  


At least Malia took the glass out.  
  


Hurt like a bitch.  
  


And, just like that…things went back to normal.  
  


As if all this hell hadn’t happened.  
  


It was…weird.  
  


Weird as all hell to just…forget it happened.  
  


For Lydia to be okay. For Kira to just be gone with the Skin Walkers to learn control over the fox. For Scott to be his happy-go-lucky self. For Liam and Hayden to be sickly happy. For Mason to be back to normal and locking lips with Corey. For Malia to be working hard so she could graduate (which Stiles was super proud of her for doing). For Theo to be just…gone.  
  


For Stiles to forget, even for a second, that he wasn’t human.  
  


It was strange. Uncomfortable.  
  


There was an itch under his skin. Not as bad before but…  
  


Something was coming their way again.  
  


And it wasn’t going to be pretty…  
  


**~+~**  
  


Stiles was fast to sleep on Saturday, finally able to catch a good night’s rest since god knows when, when he felt a tap on his shoulder.  
  


“What?! What happened!? Who died?!”  
  


(Wow…déjà vu…)  
  


There was a soft chuckle above him. One that sounded far too familiar. Glancing up…Stiles about lost his shit. About lost it everywhere.  
  


“Oh my god! D-Derek!?”  
  


Derek nodded, helping himself to a clear spot on Stiles’ bed. He wore a smile…but it didn’t reach his eyes.  
  


“Scott told me about what happened…”  
  


“All of it? Because we know he forgets to mention some things. Like how he likes to plot behind our backs. Or how he plots and doesn’t tell some of us he has been planning longer than before -”  
  


“If he left out any details, I’m sure you’ll tell me.”  
  


“Won’t know if you don’t tell me what he told you.”  
  


Derek heaved a sigh. The same old _'you’re annoying me right now’_ sigh. Stiles didn’t realize how much he missed it until he heard it. But, judging by the expression of them eyebrows, Derek wasn’t going to humor him for old time’s sake.  
  


“You okay?”  
  


Stiles shrugged, not sure what he wanted to say. He was tempted to retort with _'define okay’_ just for the hell of it. Been too long since he bantered with Derek. Even if it was Stiles mostly having conversations with expressive eyebrows.  
  


The older wolf reached out, fingers grazing against the spot where Donovan’s teeth mark was. Where it had faded but still lingered. (Damn sparky magic still punishing him!) Stiles winced, a reaction he had developed. Derek retracted his hand, frowning. And not the frowning that said he was angry.  
  


It was a sad frown…  
  


A worried frown…  
  


“Why hasn’t it healed?”  
  


“What do you mean why? I’m human. I don’t heal like you guys.”  
  


Derek hummed, like he was…amused.  
  


“Stiles…I know you aren’t human. But I’m guessing everyone else still thinks you are?”  
  


So he _was_ right! Derek _knew_!  
  


Stiles heaved a sigh, throwing his covers over his head. Maybe if he stayed under there long enough, Derek would leave and never _ever_ bring up the fact that the cat was out of the bag with at least one person in his inner circle of pals.  
  


“I understand if you don’t want anyone to know…” Derek mumbled, his hand finding its way to rest atop of Stiles’ head (not bothered by the fact there were covers on it). “Just say the word and I’ll never tell anyone unless you say I can. It’ll be our secret.”  
  


Oh boy. Another secret to keep with Derek. Wasn’t like it was a bad thing. On the contrary! Stiles was thankful! Because he knew Derek didn’t judge him. Knew Derek trusted him and understood that if there was something that wasn’t meant to be talked about, it wasn’t meant to be talked about. It was more like a blessing than anything else that Derek knew.  
  


A gust of relief left him. He had been holding on the secret for far too long. Even if Deaton knew, it wasn’t like Derek knowing. Stiles trusted Derek. Derek trusted Stiles. Would help Stiles if asked. Would defend Stiles in a heartbeat. He laid back down, not knowing he had been sitting up, and covered his face with his hands.  
  


“You would not believe the amount of magic I’ve used since you’ve been gone…”  
  


He felt the bed shift. Felt the body move closer to him. A hand took his wrists, pulling them back. Holding them carefully. Like they were glass. Derek was staring at him softly, yet with a firm sternness. Eyes saying, _'Tell me’_.  
  


So Stiles did.  
  


Told Derek everything.  
  


Even told him about the spur of the moment protection spell for the wolf.  
  


Derek sat there solemnly, not uttering a single word. Once Stiles was done telling his tale, Derek nodded with a pensive gaze. Then, the older man leaned in, touching their foreheads together. It halted Stiles’ breath. Caused small sparks to sizzle at his fingertips. Derek chuckled, closing his eyes and inhaling the smell of Stiles’ magic.  
  


“I would’ve believed you…” the wolf whispered.  
  


Those words lingered long after Derek left the room.  
  


**~+~**  
  


The itch came true just a mere month after Derek had come back to Beacon Hills.  
  


The Alpha the Dread Doctors had, the Nazi or what not, showed up. They didn’t even know the guy was really alive in the giant test tube Scott saw him in. And they didn’t know he was running about until people started going missing, then returning a werewolf.  
  


It was a mess.  
  


Total chaos.  
  


Scott, Derek, Liam, Hayden, and Satomi’s pack had their hands full wrangling in those new wolves. Lydia, Corey, and Mason were doing everything they could to set up defenses with Deaton, not wanting collateral damage. Stiles and Malia (awkwardly) did rounds around town and slightly out of town to make sure there weren’t dead bodies. The sheriff’s station was doing the same. Melissa kept an eye out for people coming in with bites or were in an “animal attack”.  
  


However, no matter what they did, they were alluded.  
  


Bodies showed up in piles. Victims of these new wolves. People they had vendettas against.  
  


They left no evidence. There was no way to arrest them. Not like a regular cell could contain them anyways. And it only got worse as the body count rose. It was almost as bad as when Mason was unknowingly La Bete.  
  


_Almost_.  
  


Every single moment, every single new victim, every single new wolf showing up – the pack panicked. They called Argent for help. Considered calling the Caleveras, but decided against it last minute. (Mostly at the hissing and snarls from Derek. Some from Argent. Definitely some from Stiles.) They called Braeden, Deucalion, begged Isaac and Jackson to come back. They even hunted down Peter and convinced him to help. Even invaded the Skin Walkers’ territory again and pleaded to have Kira back.  
  


They were desperate. Needed all the help they could get. Didn’t know where to start when they got it.  
  


It made Stiles’ skin crawl. Fingers crackle with unused magic when alone. He almost went back to the same habit of releasing his magic out in bursts like he had during the Dread Doctors incident. But he didn’t. He kept a tight lid on his magic. Only allowing the small buzz of annoyance and frustration.  
  


Derek would steal worried glances from time to time. There were a few nights when he would sneak in through the window, expressing his worry. Encouraging Stiles to use that spark. Stiles refused.  
  


“ _It would be a bad idea. It takes, Derek. Magic takes from you. And it’s brutal.”_  
  


“ _Bottling it like this is worse, Stiles. You need to let it out.”_  
  


“ _I can’t and I won’t! End of story!”_  
  


That was how all of their conversations went. It was growing tiresome. Irksome.  
  


Stiles was staying put where he stood and no stupid werewolf worried about his well being would change his mind!  
  


That is…until he was kidnapped.  
  


The enemy caught him off guard as he was leaving school. Freakin’ leaving school!  
  


He knew the others would come looking for him the minute they saw his Jeep still in the parking lot. Didn’t make him feel any better about waking in a cold, dark warehouse filled with newly turned werewolves being ran by a Nazi alpha.  
  


He blinked the world to clarity, groaning once he saw where he was. Almost laughed and mocked _Herr_ Alpha for not having a purely Aryan pack. Decided against it as he watched the terrifying man look over his wallet.  
  


It would be a lie for Stiles to say he wasn’t scared shitless.  
  


“Mmmm…” the German alpha mused, taking out a driver’s license from the wallet. “Stilinski Mścisław Genim. Ahhhh.” Those pearly blues fell on Stiles, a frightening smirk full of fangs tight on the dried lips. “Pole? Sie ein Pole, Junge?”  
  


Stiles gaped at him, horrified that this guy didn’t know English. Sadly, Stiles only knew Spanish. Well, he did know the Latin in the tomes he borrowed from Deaton (because being a spark had its perks), but German? Nada. Knew not a single ounce of it. All he knew was the rough yet soft way it rolled off the Nazi’s tongue did not help his predicament of fear.  
  


A foot landed on his stomach – knocking the wind out of him and shooting a searing pain through his being. He groaned again, rolling onto his back and clutched his wounded gut. Hovering over him was a woman who looked vaguely familiar. She was young enough to be a student at BHHS. Maybe she was a classmate? Either way, she was giving him the crowning glare of all murderous glares. She even had Derek’s beat! If he wasn’t hurting right now, Stiles might have made a sarcastic remark right there and then.  
  


“He asked if you’re a Pole!” she hissed, eyes shining gold.  
  


Stiles winced, glaring right back at her. “My apologies. I took Spanish, not German. I’m not some magical all language knowing fairy. And what the hell is a Pole?”  
  


She huffed, kicking at his leg next.  
  


“Ow! Fuuuuck! Would you quit that!?”  
  


“A Pole is someone from Poland! He’s asking if you’re Polish!”  
  


“Good hell…was that really worth kicking me over? You couldn’t have explained it to me like a civilized person? Or did you throw that out the window the minute you learned you can go all wolfy now?”  
  


In response, she kicked his other leg.  
  


“Goddammit! Yes! I’m Polish! There! Happy now?!”  
  


She turned to the Nazi, reciting his answer in German. The Nazi nodded, grinning fondly and started rattling off some story in his native tongue. Stiles half hoped that this wouldn’t be translated for him. He had no desire to listen to whatever this psycho was fondly speaking of. And the other half of him, the half that was curious to a fault, desperately wanted to know what was being said.  
  


Since the man was a former Nazi…maybe he was talking about how he invaded Poland or something.  
  


The girl turned her attention back to Stiles, expressionless. “He says he hates Poles.”  
  


“Mmmm…feeling’s mutual, buddy. Don't like you, either.” grunted Stiles, not faltering from his glare.  
  


He figured that that’s what she told her alpha, because the guy unleashed the world’s creepiest cackle. Chilled Stiles done to the very bone.  
  


Herr Alpha tossed the wallet and its contents at Stiles’ face, spitting at the floor in front of him and cackling again. Stiles, being defiant as always, managed to sit up and spat back. Gasps filled the room. The girl appeared five seconds shy from beating his face in.  
  


And Herr Alpha?  
  


He watched Stiles with intense, fire red eyes. He didn’t seem furious or confused. He was blank. Unable to be read. That alone made Stiles’ stomach churn.  
  


“Wie loyal sind Sie zu Ihrem Alpha?”  
  


“He’s asking how loyal you are to your alpha.”  
  


“Denn wenn ich Sie drechen…Sie werden ihn zu töten sein.”  
  


“Because once he turns you, you’ll be killing him.”  
  


The world froze, moving barely at a sloth’s pace. The words rung in his ears. Turn…Stiles didn’t want to turn. He _never_ wanted to turn! He didn’t want to kill Scott, either! He didn’t want to hurt his best friend ever again!  
  


Breathing…it hurt to breathe…  
  


Chest felt like someone was crushing it…  
  


The world slugged worse…  
  


Everything was spinning…  
  


_**STOP HIM! HE CAN’T TURN US! HE CAN’T TURN US! STOP! STOP IT! STOP IT! DON’T LET HIM! WE CAN’T BE TURNED! WE CAN’T BE TURNED! MŚCISŁAW!** _  
  


Suddenly, Stiles felt his eyes burn. Felt them glowing. Felt the world moving normally. Felt like a fire had been lit in him. His magic squealed and rose in his throat – clawing its way out. But he waited. Waited till the Nazi was about to bite him before…  
  


He screamed. Like a Banshee again. With enough force to send the alpha flying across the room. Enough force to blow out the eardrums of those closer to him. Shook the room. Cracked the walls.  
  


He inhaled sharply, catching his breath and shaking from the use. Shaking from the spark bubbling over. There was no turning back. He was going to use until he couldn’t any longer.  
  


So he bolted to his feet, grabbing the translator girl by the hair and yanking her to his chest. He wrapped a hand around her throat, feeling the sparks sew into her vocal cords, connecting his own there. He opened his mouth – she opened hers. The others were stunned, not knowing what was going on or what to do without their alpha up and running.  
  


“You’re gonna howl for me.” Stiles snarled in the girl’s ear, not at all feeling wigged out at hearing his own voice echo from her. “You’re going to help me out and you won’t tell me no. You’re going to be a good girl.”  
  


Before she could try to protest (which she couldn’t anyways), Stiles inhaled again. Then, he called out with the roar of her wolf cords to the only person that knew his secret.  
  


“ **DEEEEREEEEEEEK**!”  
  


Then, he shoved her away, ignoring her wheezing gasps. Sparks danced out of his fingers, shooting at anyone that decided to act. He meticulously sent them everywhere and anywhere he could, not bothering to worry about the consequences.  
  


“Stopp ihn!” barked the alpha, finally back on his feet.  
  


Stiles saw this as his cue to stomp his foot on the ground, creating an unbreakable shield around him. He knew that Derek, and only Derek, would have heard the roar. Would follow its echo till he reached him. Until then, Stiles needed to keep the band of axis powers away.  
  


Didn’t mean they still didn’t try to obey their alpha.  
  


It was entertaining to see them bounce back after hitting the shield – yowling and crashing onto the concrete flooring. But the more they did that…the more it tore at Stiles’ ever growing fragile state.  
  


Magic had a price. Magic took and took. And it was taking _now_.  
  


He could feel his skin starting to tear from the strain. Feel the blood flowing from the forming wounds. From his lips. He sputtered and coughed, shaking like a wet animal. Even the sparks at his fingers were starting to eat away at his nails.  
  


Luckily, the betas gave up on breaking the shield. Instead, they circled him like a predator stalking their prey. Their alpha soon joined, a gleam of knowing in his stare.  
  


“Ahhhh. Funke.” he crooned. “Du bist ein Funke.”  
  


Like clockwork, the translator did what she did best: translated. Albeit a bit hoarse. “He says…that you’re a spark. Whatever the hell that is…”  
  


Stiles let out a low growl, mimicking a fox since he didn’t have and energy to do something more threatening like a wolf. It, surprisingly, still did the trick. The betas backed off, terrified that someone who they supposed was human five seconds ago was actually _growling_.  
  


Herr Alpha, however, lingered, more amused than anything. He paced back and forth around the shield, never breaking eye contact from the spark.  
  


“Ihre Augen sind schön. Die Art und Weise der Schein…herrlich und schön.”  
  


“English, dammit!” hissed Stiles, feeling the agitation bubble out alongside his magic.  
  


Herr Alpha chuckled, shaking his head. He continued to speak German, happily prattling away like it was nothing. Like a taunt at Stiles’ nerves. Once finished, the alpha glanced at his translator, expecting her to do her job.  
  


Which she _did_.  
  


Like a good little pup.  
  


“He says your eyes are beautiful. The way they glow are magnificent and beautiful. He says he knew a spark whose eyes glowed like yours. The…the turquoise.” She swallowed, rubbing her throat where the markings from Stiles’ spell still lingered, refusing to heal. “He was a little boy in a concentration camp. Had the same whit and sharpness as you. Was as powerful as you. Or, maybe you’re more powerful, since the boy died by his claws.”  
  


Pain flicked in Stiles’ chest.  
  


That poor kid. Having to not only be in a concentration camp, losing his family most likely in front of him, but to also be murdered by a werewolf Nazi...  
  


Rage started to rise. In fact, it boiled over within seconds. And, not thinking in the slightest, Stiles snapped his arms forward – sending the shield at anything in its way. Those that didn’t make it away in time were set on fire, their screams haunting the air.  
  


The shield didn’t get far. It made it barely a few feet before Stiles dropped to the ground and started to convulse. Like he was having a seizure.  
  


Everything from there was dark. Unknown.  
  


When he woke up, once again in a hospital bed, Stiles was surrounded by a crowd of his friends and allies. Some were asleep. Some were hovering at his bedside in hopes of seeing him wake. Derek and Scott were holding his hands, taking his pain.  
  


It was Derek who noticed he had woken.  
  


“Stiles!”  
  


That word alone brought the entire room to life. They hounded him with questions. Demanding answers. Too loud. Stiles groaned, squeezing his eyes shut and tensing at all the noise.  
  


“Give him some air.” Melissa ordered calmly.  
  


Sure enough, the invasion of inquiries silenced. Stiles cracked his eyes open, his breath hitching in his rough throat. Everything ached. Even with two wolves sucking out the pain. He knew he had used too much of his spark. Knew this was his punishment.  
  


“There wasn’t a bite on you…” Scott finally spoke up. “You weren’t turned…”  
  


Stiles swallowed, guilt consuming him. “I-I know…”  
  


“The place smelled of ozone.” Liam chimed in. “No idea what that means, though.”  
  


“Means someone in there used magic.” explained Isaac nonchalantly. “But we didn’t see any witches in there.”  
  


“It’s not only a witch that uses magic, idiot.” hissed Jackson.  
  


“But that’s the most common, _idiot_.” spat Lydia in Isaac’s defense.  
  


“Let’s not forget that Stiles here was the only one we found in the den.” Peter mused. “Meaning he has some serious explaining to do.”  
  


“You think that _he_ was the one that unleashed all that magic.” concluded Deucalion in a smarmy tone. “Normally, I would have to disagree with you. But, in this case, I’m thinking the same thing. Stiles…care to explain some things to us?”  
  


“Now hold on just one damn moment!” the sheriff snapped, hands raised. “You honestly think that my son casted some Harry Potter mumbo jumbo? No no no no. My son isn’t some…warlock. He doesn’t even have a wand!”  
  


With a sigh, Stiles resigned. Might as well come clean. Let the cat out of the bag.  
  


“Well…a spark doesn’t need a wand, dad...”  
  


The room fell silent. All eyes glued to him with mixtures of confusion and shock. Derek and Deaton had relief across their faces. The only ones.  
  


“I thought sparks were myths…” whispered Braeden, glancing at the people in the room that would know about sparks.  
  


“What’s a spark?” Malia asked, voicing what those that had no idea what _spark_ meant couldn’t.  
  


“A spark is a very rare supernatural being.” Deaton started. “They, like myself, can easily blend in with humans.”  
  


“Until they use magic.” finished Argent.  
  


“Well I’ll be damned…” breathed Peter, a glint of pride in his eyes. “This explains a lot about you, Stiles. It really does.”  
  


“So…Stiles isn’t human? Intense.” Mason said in awe.  
  


More silence filled the room. It made the guilt ruffle more under the broken skin. Moaning as he shifted, Stiles moved his gaze all over the room, making sure to hit every single person in the room.  
  


“Sorry for not telling anyone. I just thought…I saw how Melissa reacted to Scott when she found out he was a werewolf. I saw how Scott reacted to being a werewolf and how he treated it for a while. I just…wanted to be normal. Be the last thread of it. Heh…I apparently sucked at it.”  
  


Thankfully, there were a few chuckles at that statement. A few mumbles of agreement. Then, a few words of encouragement for him to not be afraid. To show his true self. To not hide. Of course he had to explain how dangerous magic was (with Deaton’s help, of course) and how he wasn’t going to use it willy nilly.  
  


But he promised to use it more often now that the cat was out.  
  


Now that he didn’t need to be afraid anymore.  
  


**~+~**  
  


Up until now, Stiles still was reluctant to use his magic.  
  


Even with everyone knowing what he was and encouraging him to use it, he had been hiding it so long that the habit was hard to break. Not to mention that using it had repercussions. And he was _still_ healing from the last time.  
  


But that didn’t matter. Not when Herr Alpha was looming over his father, claws raised as he was being shot in the chest. Not when Herr Alpha took Derek down before going for his dad.  
  


The gloves were off.  
  


He threw his bat aside, striding on over to the enemy without a second thought. He pulled his hood over his head, darkening his being. His eyes glowed – cold, dead, emotionless. Not turquoise light like usual, but rather something…disheartening. Almost evil.  
  


The sky above became as black as night. Wind howled. Earth quivered. Trees shivered.  
  


Everyone smart enough to move did. Scattered like roaches.  
  


The Nazi wolf stayed put. Some of his pack, too.  
  


The sheriff struggled to drag an in progress healing Derek out of the way, giving his son this stare that said _'You get them and you get them good.’_  
  


Sparks jumped from fingertip to fingertip, lavishing in the vibration they held. At that point, some of the enemy decided to head for the trees, figuring it was better to flee than to deal with what Stiles was going to dish out.  
  


They wouldn’t get far.  
  


Stiles snapped his fingers, the sparks turning into bolts of lightning. Striking down those that were fleeing. Herr Alpha didn’t seem to be bothered. They ran. They should pay for their cowardice. That’s probably what was going through his head. Not Stiles’. His head was saying that he was sick of them. Sick of the bodies. Sick of people he cared about getting hurt by these bastards.  
  


“You should have never left your little fish tank, Herr Alpha.” Stiles said flatly.  
  


The alpha scoffed, speaking in his tongue. Probably mocking the spark. Boasting about his power.  
  


Big mistake.  
  


Stiles roamed closer and closer, his hands oozing with blood from cuts forming. Vapors of wolfsbane flowed out around his head as he exhaled with menace. _That_ seemed to get the bastard’s attention. The Nazi took a step back, already gagging from the stench of the toxin.  
  


“You should have _never_ come onto _my_ turf. Hurt _my_ friends. Kill innocent people _or_ turn good people into your mindless drones. You should have _stayed asleep_.”  
  


The ground groaned, eager for its meal. Stiles waited no longer. He opened up the earth, allowing it to snatch up the alpha’s legs. Screaming in agony, the alpha laid on the ground, watching in horror as his legs disappeared into the dirt.  
  


Now it was Stiles looming over him. With sparks zipping and zooming…not claws.  
  


With a wicked smile, Stiles stood on the enemy’s hand, digging his shoe deep into the bone as it crunched and healed repeatedly. The screams only fueled his enjoyment.  
  


“Lubię cię pod moim butem, Herr Alpha.” He leaned down closer to the man, his wicked smile growing Joker-like. “I said _I like you beneath my boot, Herr Alpha_. In case you don’t know Polish.”  
  


The alpha spat at him, spewing out German words that likely were curses.  
  


“I think we are done here.”  
  


With the howls from the earth at his feet…he obliged to its wishes. Watched with no emotion as it swallowed the alpha whole.  
  


Just like that – it was over. The threat was eliminated. A breath of relief was shared among everyone having been swept in this mess.  
  


That is…until…  
  


“Stiles!” cried out Kira in a panic.  
  


The very second his name was out...Stiles was down on the ground. Bleeding from his leg. His price to pay for using what he was born with. For obeying the call.  
  


Of course he passed out from the agonizing pain.  
  


Of course he woke up in a hospital bed yet again.  
  


However, this time, there was just Derek there at his side.  
  


He flinched as he moved, causing Derek to shush him and tell him to relax. Followed by explaining that the sheriff had gone out to get food. Also followed by relaying what had happened since Stiles had been out cold for a few days.  
  


Isaac and Jackson left again, not wanting to stick around. Especially Jackson who was enjoying London far too much. Argent went with Isaac, helping him find a different place that wasn’t France. Deucalion wandered off to wherever he was prior. Peter had been thrown back into Eichen with the help of sedatives.  
  


Braeden was still around, her budding relationship with Malia ever growing. Kira went back to the Skin Walkers, but not before buying Stiles the cutest fox plush in the world (he would have to visit her if possible and give her all the hugs the world had to offer).  
  


Scott, Liam, Hayden, Mason, Corey, and Derek (when he wasn’t at Stiles’ side since he took shifts with the sheriff and Melissa) were trying to figure out how to rehabilitate the members of the opposing alpha’s packmates. Hoped they would either become part of the pack or another allied pack.  
  


_A lot_ had happened the past few days.  
  


Made Stiles’ head spin.  
  


(Maybe it was the morphine, but who knows?)  
  


“You going next?” he eventually rasped, too tired to be stunned at hearing his own voice.  
  


Derek gaped in disbelief. Like Stiles had just cussed him out or something.  
  


“Stiles…I bought a house here. Just a street over from yours. I’m not going anywhere.”  
  


The breath leaving the spark was rattled. Itchy. He reached out, attempting to grab Derek’s hand. Fortunately, the wolf took it before Stiles jabbed his eye out. Would be a classic Stiles move. Especially when doped up.  
  


“Not this time.” whispered the wolf sincerely.  
  


Seeing the truth there, Stiles managed a weary grin. “Good. 'Cause I never got to use any of my new dog jokes on you since you now can actually turn into a full fledged wolf.” He paused, digging up said jokes from the cabinets of his mind. “Does that mean you can get fleas? 'Cause I’m not interested in giving you a flea bath.”  
  


To his surprise, Derek laughed at that. Honestly _laughed_. Made Stiles preen with pride. Of course it didn’t last long. Not with the morphine fading away.  
  


That’s what werewolves were good for.  
  


The very second that Derek sensed Stiles was starting to hurt, he immediately took his hand and began draining away the pain. In small bursts. At least until Melissa showed up to check in with Stiles.  
  


Once that was over with, Derek was getting up to leave. Said something about going to make sure Scott and the others were doing okay.  
  


Thank god for the telepathy that didn’t use magic. Or else he couldn’t lock the door on Derek.  
  


Derek didn’t demand to know why Stiles did that. He understood it.  
  


And he stayed.  
  


Didn’t go anywhere as promised.  
  


When Stiles woke up again from his nap…Derek was still there, napping as well. Stiles couldn’t help but smile. Or run his fingers through the thick, dark hair.  
  


_**Our wolf. Protector. Anchor. Our wolf.** _  
  


For once, Stiles agreed with his magic. Though to hell with ever admitting it. Unless he was forced to. Which, if the experience with how long it took for him to reveal that he wasn’t human…  
  


He had time. He’d figure it out.  
  


_Eventually_.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk sterek with me!
> 
> youfancymemaddearie.tumblr.com


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